. r : ::: : Cc:;f1 '9 rJ, f,1 " ::- ,.J! )LJj. r: 'I Ò< ' ,,:' .f; r:' . ; -j . \ ."" 2 [ " ",. 44 '/ e"'- -- r: f1:. ,::::\" ... \ "", , ' '" ; , . " l ,. : I \. i .A ......... ""'- t , .1 1 h ... '"'" 11" .:: : i :v ,.... ': < >,. '" ". 0,.,: .".. ;. - ; , ..-:' i :' .,. . .. .. ..: :" '.... ". "' =þ. j.' :: I r ". \ ;0: : to': " " * " ""'Co... n .;.:::::?;t :.:::::::.::.:. ""' Q:IJ>". "u h,"'"" . J< '-,,,,UO'o{ '. f.:' . if. Ù 0" ,",* A !@Jg , " f "Guess who Mayor Koch called a wacko today." . thinking of selling. She may be a bIt high-priced for you, but she's a real beauty." I asked what sort of horse she was, and he said she was an Arab, with elegant conformation and gaIts. "How big?" I asked. "On the small side," he replied. "About fourteen two." I had an almost eerie feeling as I asked what color the mare was. He answered, "White." I made an ap- pointment to see her the next day. When I got to the farm, the owner took me into the stable where the mare, named Rassi, was. She was in a box stall. At the sight of us, she was on her toes-ears forward, nostrils quivering. She was lovely. The man snapped a shank to her halter and brought her out. She snorted and danced a little in the aisle. When I patted her neck, she shied nervously. "That doesn't mean anything," the man said. "She's really gentle, but she hasn't been handled much lately. Wait until you see her move. This mare has wings on her feet." Rassi's owner picked up a lunge line, and we walked out to the meadow. She arched her . neck like a horse in a Grecian marble -she was the color of marble, too- and her small black hooves, neat and perfect, danced on the green turf. She tossed her head, looking at everything, and the owner-a strong man-took a tight grip on the shank. I could see his muscles strain as he held her. In the center of the meadow, at the crest of a little hill, he let out the line and Rassi took off, trotting in a wide circle at the end of the tether. She had been lovely before. Now she was breathtaking. Just as the owner had said, she had wings on her feet. As she extended her trot, she seemed hardly to touch the ground. Her head high, ears pricked, she fixed her gaze on the horizon as though if released she would simply soar across the meadow and into the woods. She cantered, then galloped. Her mane and tail had the grace of flowing water: the enchanted horse. Rassi s owner slowed her down and pulled her in. "What do you think?" he asked "Did you ever see such power? When you're on her, it's just like floating." Then he eXplained that NOVEMBER 10, 1980 though he would like me to ride her, he had no bridle or saddle-all his tack had been sent off to a horse show. He suggested I come back. I said I would telephone him and make a date. He led Rassi to a pasture, where other horses were grazing. The moment he unsnapped the lead, she was off like an arrow. She galloped around once and then, with the quick change of mood characteristic of horses, settled down to graze. A horse's thoughts center on the present: a mouthful of grass, then another; sudden alarm at something unexpected, such as a rabbit starting up; then quietness again when the danger is over. It makes sense for her- bivores to think that way. They have no need to scheme or to plan. They have only one need-to evade the predator as long as possible. For them, each moment is sufficient unto itself. I said goodbye and drove home, thinking, of course, about Rassi. She remained as clear in my mind's eye as the white mare of my fantasy with which this quest had begun. But there was now an added element in the pic- ture: her hot, nervous temperament and the man's arm muscles straining as he held her. By the time I got home, I had made my decision. I knew that I wanted her even more now that she was real, but I was afraid of her. Ten years ago, I could have handled her, but not now. With all that power and spirit, anything might happen, and I wouldn't be strong enough, quick enough, brave enough to cope. Rassi was ideal for someone young, but not for me. It was late afternoon, and I made a drink and took it out on the porch and tried to read the paper. The air was soft and calm, and the sun slanted beautifully through the leaves of over- hanging trees, but the birds were noisy and distracting. I couldn't read. I thought, It is very foolish to get a new horse and risk your neck. Any new horse could give you trouble. And, face it, you don't ride that much any- more. Stick with Maisie and just go out for long, slow walks. If you only walk her, she'll be good for some years yet. While I was thinking these things, my black cat was in my lap. Like Maisie, she has slowed down lately. She used to hunt far out in the mead- ow, but now she knows her limitations and sticks pretty close to the shelter of the house. I was a little surprised when she jumped off my lap and went out on the lawn. As I watched, she walked